


Hot Males @ Hot Springs Dot Com

by sealdog



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: Checking in at the resort is easy, with the Atlas name and Rhys’ own charm smoothing the way. Their bags, the head porter assures them with a handwave at the imposing bot next to him, will be situated in their private lodge shortly, which leaves them free to go explore the grounds if they wish.Rhys exchanges a glance with Tim, who looks a lot more at ease now that he’s on solid ground.“Up to you, babe,” Tim says, shoulders loose, cheeks pinked from the cold air outside, and hair tousled from the beanie now in his hands. He grins at Rhys, the left corner of his mouth quirking up higher than the right, and Rhys finds that the thin air of the mountain may or may not be harder to breathe than he'd expected.---Rhys and Tim go on vacation to a hot spring in the mountains. Fondue and feelings are had.





	Hot Males @ Hot Springs Dot Com

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this vid](https://www.instagram.com/p/BOrwTkUlqji/) that lego sent. Look how chill they are....#inspirational and #blessed tbh.
> 
> The hot springs I was thinking of when I wrote were based on [this picture](http://cdn1.buuteeq.com/upload/2069884/-d-1.jpg.1024x0.jpg) but you're free to imagine whatever version of hot springs you want :~)
> 
> Alternate title: Rhysothy, anime hot springs episode edition.
> 
> Thank u michelle for betaing!! ur the best, but also the worst (jk ur gr8. gr9, even)

The cable car journey up to the resort is long, windy, and probably very scenic, because that’s what the brochures had promised. Rhys doesn’t know, because he spends most of it glaring at his tablet, willing it to get a connection. It’s not very effective, no matter how hard he jabs at the screen, and he eventually gives up and stuffs it back into his laptop bag. He turns to Tim to complain about the shitty reception, but swallows the words when he sees the way Tim’s jaw is clenched and he’s staring straight ahead at the front of the cable car.

“Tim?” Rhys lifts a hand, then leaves it hovering awkwardly in the air when he realises that Tim’s hands are clenched, white-knuckled on his knees like a schoolboy about to get scolded. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Tim clears his throat. He glances at Rhys, then down at his hands, and unclenches them with a grimace. “Sorry. Not great with heights.”

Rhys glances out, to the window on the other side of Tim, and the expanse of empty air that drops down an inestimable distance to the snowy mountain beneath them. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Tim makes a small sound of assent, and doesn’t look away from the front of the cable car.

“Shit, I hadn’t considered that. I’m sorry, god. We can cancel, and I can get the lodge to call for a helicopter to bring us back down?”

“No!” Tim blurts out, one hand snapping out. It lands on Rhys’ thigh, and he gropes his way to holding Rhys’ hand without taking his eyes off the front of the car. “I’m fine, just. We’ll reach soon, it’s fine.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” Rhys wraps both his hands around Tim’s hand, cursing the thickness of Tim’s stupid old chunky gloves. They’re ridiculously clunky, making Tim’s already big hands look hilariously huge. Rhys had offered to get him the same kind of gloves that Rhys had on, slim-cut insulated leather ones that would actually work with ECHOscreens, but Tim had sworn that the gloves had lasted him seven years, and would last him for seven more.

Rhys can barely feel the outline of Tim’s fingers in his stupid gloves, but he squeezes anyway.

“Sorry,” he says, swallowing down the guilt. He really had forgotten, too distracted by the luxury promised in the brochure. “Next time I’ll make sure it’s a mountain resort with fast-travel stations.”

Tim glances over at him, and the tense edge to his jaw softens. “It’s really okay. A forty minute trip in this for three days of relaxation with you? Worth it.”

“What about the ride back down?” Rhys feels obliged to remind him.

Tim grimaces, and shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to make it up to me,” he says, something of his usual humour coming back to his eyes.

“Oh, for sure.” Rhys reaches up, and taps one gloved finger against Tim’s chin to make him look at Rhys. “I’m thinking…chocolate fondue.”

“Chocolate fondue, really?” Tim’s eyes crinkle up, the freckles at the corner of his eyes disappearing.

“Yep. All the chocolate and dips you could ever want. And me, of course.” Rhys slides his finger to the corner of Tim’s mouth, where he really wants to press a kiss. “I’ll hand feed you chocolate covered strawberries, it’ll be really romantic.”

“Romantic, eh? Should I be worried this is going to go like that time you tried to cook me dinner for my birthday?” Only the faintest traces of tension remain on Tim’s face as he callously mocks Rhys’ romantic attempts. Rhys still sees them though, the faintest furrow between Tim’s brows, and the deliberate way he’s got his eyes fixed on Rhys’ face, but he seems willing enough to try and let Rhys distract him. So Rhys does.

“Okay, but I made it up to you, right?” Rhys leans in closer, carefully, so as to not shake the carriage. He lets his finger press against Tim’s mouth, pulling with the faintest amount of pressure at Tim’s lower lip.

“Mm.” Tim’s eyes darken. “So you did,” he says, lips moving against Rhys’ finger.

“So trust me. The chocolate fondue is gonna go _great_. I’m thinking, cheese, fruits, maybe more cheese...”

“I _have_ always wanted to try dipping brownies in more chocolate.”

“What? Ew, no, that’s too much chocolate!” Rhys says, affronted.

“Chocolate chip brownies with chocolate fudge, dipped in chocolate.” Tim grins, lopsided and sweet like the disgusting combination of food he’s talking about. “I dunno, sounds perfect to me.”

“You have terrible taste,” Rhys tells him, scowling.

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, still grinning at Rhys. “I got you, after all.”

Rhys sniffs, quashing that flattered feeling down with a reminder to himself that Tim was a chocolate tripling heathen. “Flatterer,” he says, and drops his hand into Tim’s lap.

“Mm hm.” Tim catches Rhys’ hand with his other one, until they’re holding hands in a position that’s only mildly awkward, and probably Tim’s idea of romantic. He glances over Rhys’ shoulder, and exhales, the last of the tension leaking out of his body. “We’re here.”

\---

The resort is a short drive from the cable car station, and they spend the entire trip listing out things to dip into the chocolate fondue. By the time they reach the resort, the list has grown to include Rhys’ tablet, Tim’s collection of hand-crafted bullets, and their future pets. They call a truce as the car pulls into the main lodge, but Rhys is pretty sure he wins. For whatever given value of winning there is in a debate about things to dip into chocolate.

Checking in is easy, with the Atlas name and Rhys’ own charm smoothing the way. Their bags, the head porter assures them with a handwave at the imposing bot next to him, will be situated in their private lodge shortly, which leaves them free to go explore the grounds if they wish.

Rhys exchanges a glance with Tim, who looks a lot more at ease now that he’s on solid ground.

“Up to you, babe,” Tim says, shoulders loose, cheeks pinked from the cold air outside, and hair tousled from the beanie now in his hands. He grins at Rhys, the left corner of his mouth quirking up higher than the right, and Rhys finds that the thin air of the mountain may or may not be harder to breathe than he'd expected.

“Let’s go order our food for tonight, and then go back to rest,” Rhys says, and takes a deep breath. Damn these mountain climates. “I wanna see those famed hot springs of theirs.”

“If this is a ploy to go back to where there’s wifi so you can do more work on our vacation…” Tim says, but there’s no heat in his voice. He puts the beanie back on his head, and turns to the receptionist to ask for directions to the dining hall. There’s an errant curl of brown hair poking out from his beanie that makes him look incredibly boyish, and Rhys has to focus on putting his gloves back on to resist the urge to tuck it back into place.

“I just need to send _two_ , maybe three emails,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Tim to hear.

“Uhhuh. Workaholic. C’mon, this way.” Tim turns back, and takes Rhys’ hands, helping him tug the gloves into position. “Let’s go see if your chocolate fondue dreams can be realised.”

\---

It turns out that, yes, the resort does provide the materials for chocolate fondue, and most of the dipping materials on their list. Their _revised_ list, because Rhys isn’t actually going to let anybody see a list that contains personal items like Tim’s penchant for ugly jelly stickers, or Rhys’ collection of fountain pens.

They put in an order for the fondue, as well as their meals for the next day, and head back to their lodge, where Rhys fully intends to remove his arm, shower and go straight for the hot tub. His plans are put a little off track by Tim joining him in the shower, and then bodily hustling Rhys out when Rhys refused to share the hot spray.

Rhys steals Tim’s bathrobe (fluffy, with cat paw-prints over the pockets) on his way out though, so he’s not too fussed.

He heads straight to the back of the lodge, where a huge, heated glass wall overlooks the adjoining hot spring, and takes a moment to enjoy the view. Steam rises gently off the gently burbling water of the hot springs, turning the warm light of the quaint lamps scattered around the area into a hazy glow. Their lodge has a damn good view - Rhys had paid extra for that - but, as Rhys looks out, past the hot spring and out to where the view opened up into the mountain vista beyond, he finds himself not grudging a single credit.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Tim’s voice comes from behind him, and then there’s a pair of warm, damp arms wrapping around Rhys’ middle, and a chin propped up on his left shoulder.

Rhys leans back into Tim’s embrace, and makes an assenting sound, content to stare out at the way the setting suns painted the snowy mountainous landscape into a canvas of pinks and oranges, purple streaks breaking up the pattern here and there.

“I thought you wanted to try out the hot spring,” Tim says, voice warm against Rhys’ ear. “The view will still be there, you know.”

“True,” Rhys concedes. “But it’ll be _cold_.”

“Only until you get into the water, you big baby.” Tim reaches out, past Rhys’ shoulder, and slides the glass door open. The _freezing_ air that swirls in makes Rhys yelp and turn, try to burrow into Tim’s arms, but Tim just laughs and walks them out, arms tight around Rhys. He’s got the advantage of two arms and a ridiculous (but appreciated) amount of muscle on Rhys, and despite Rhys’ efforts, they go further and further from the welcoming warmth of the heated house.

Eventually, they’re far enough from the glass door that Rhys gives up, shoves Tim off him, and shucks off Tim’s bathrobe to slide as quickly as he can into the hot water. The water is blessedly hot after the chilly mountain air, and he dips all the way in, letting the heat sink into his skin.

“You,” he says when he finally emerges, just enough to stick his head out. “Are the _worst boyfriend ever_.”

Tim returns from where he’d gone to close the sliding door, and dissolves into laughter when he catches sight of Rhys. He drops the towel he’d slung around his waist, and sits at the edge of the pool, shamelessly naked. He doesn’t even have the _decency_ to look cold. Rhys sinks lower into the water, lets it warm up his already chilly cheeks, and glares his resentment at Tim, who’s still laughing.

“How were you planning on handfeeding me chocolate covered strawberries if you can’t even bring your hand out of the water?” Tim asks, sounding inordinately cheerful about the prospect of them both freezing to death.

Rhys proves that he _can_ bring his hand out of the water, and one finger in particular. Tim only laughs harder as he slides into the water to join Rhys, sending a small wave right into Rhys’ face and making him splutter.

“Or worse, how are you gonna get back into the house?” Tim comes in close, and curls his big hands around Rhys’ ears. Rhys forgives him a little, for that. His hands are warm, and Rhys may or may not lean into them a little, even as he continues to scowl at Tim.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he pokes his head up enough to grudgingly admit.

“Okay, okay. C’mere.” Tim wraps his arms around Rhys, and guides them both to the edge of the pool, where there are small ledges set into the rock that they can sit on. “Here, let’s watch the sunset, and then we’ll figure out how to get you into the house.”

They settle into a comfortable position, Tim’s arm wrapped around Rhys’ shoulders and Rhys with his legs across Tim’s lap, head tucked against Tim’s shoulder. It’s warmer like this, the heat of the water and Tim’s body pleasantly lulling. Rhys watches the mountains sleepily, tracks the way the hues change almost imperceptibly, and thinks idly about how much it’d cost to develop a resort like this on Pandora. A stupid amount, probably.

Pity.

Eventually, the suns finish setting, and the mountains are dark. It’s still relatively bright out; the stars, visible now that the suns are down, are bright, a greenish haze that Tim calls an aurora tingeing the edges of the neighbouring mountains with a soft glow.

“Should we go in?” Tim asks, voice more felt as a rumble than heard.

“We probably should…”

“It’ll only get colder as the night goes on.”

“Ugh.”

Tim kisses the top of Rhys’ head, and tilts Rhys’ head up with a knuckle under his chin to catch his lips in a second kiss. “Come on. Let’s eat our fancy catered dinner, and then sleep.”

“ _Ugh_.”

\---

It takes Tim returning from the house with a heated towel and lots of cajoling to get Rhys out of the hot spring, but soon enough, they’re dry, warm, and eating dinner in front of the fireplace. The food is good, surprisingly fresh for how high up they are in the mountains, and prepared to perfection. Rhys enjoys it, enjoys Tim’s snide comments about overpriced bourgeoisie bullshit even more, and enjoys the sight of Tim eating everything off his plate anyway the most.

“So, tomorrow.” Rhys watches as Tim licks the yogurt off his spoon. The food is good enough that Rhys isn’t sure if this is Tim trying to be seductive, or Tim just trying to get at the last remnants of yogurt.

“Mmhm?” Tim looks up, a sly look in his eyes as he licks the spoon, deliberately.

Seductive, then. Rhys could play that game too.

“I know what I’m gonna be doing,” Rhys says, stretching. Tim’s sweater is loose on him as always, and by now, he knows how to shrug his shoulders as he comes out of his stretch to make the sweater settle in a way that leaves his collarbone bare. He holds back a grin at the way Tim’s eyes go instantly to Rhys’ bared skin. “I plan to spend the entire day in the hot spring. Maybe a break or two to get a massage.”

“You’ll get pruny,” Tim points out.

Rhys watches as, done with his yogurt performance, Tim places his plate and utensils on the tray with Rhys’, and pushes it all aside. He crawls towards Rhys on hands and knees, and leans over him, pressing close but not quite touching. Grinning, Rhys leans back, lets Tim invade his personal space until he’s lying on the floor, Tim stretched out over him.

“Well, the massage is gonna help with that.” Rhys hooks a finger into Tim’s sweatpants, runs the pad of his finger against the thin, warm skin over Tim’s hipbone. “They even have a facial package, did you know?”

“Luxurious. I should’ve known,” Tim says, and bends down to kiss Rhys. He tastes like yogurt, and Rhys laughs, tugs Tim down fully onto him with his arm, and kisses back.

\---

It turns out that fucking on a carpet in front of the fireplace isn’t the most comfortable thing, so they move it to their bed. It’s a huge four-poster with a ridiculous number of soft pillows, and an impressive, carved headboard that Rhys holds on to as he rides Tim.

Rhys may or may not consider getting one of these beds for his own apartment. When he tells this to Tim, Tim laughs, and points out that it would take up _way_ too much space.

“I’ll make space,” Rhys says. “Don’t take away my four-poster bed dreams, you monster.”

“Sure, sure.” Tim kisses Rhys, but Rhys can feel the way he’s smiling as he does so. “I have to admit, the posters look like they would be convenient.”

“Exactly,” Rhys says, satisfied.

\---

Rhys spends his first full day at the lodge doing exactly what he’d told Tim he was going to do. The brochures for the hot spring had espoused all sorts of mineral benefits in the water, and he figures he needs all the benefits he can get before he goes back to the office in- god, is it really only two more days?

He frowns at the beautiful mountain landscape, suddenly irritated and not really knowing why. The mountains are still achingly beautiful in the light of the day, harshly stark in their snowy expanse, but he finds himself somehow annoyed by its beauty. Which is stupid, and irrational.

God, he needs another drink. He reaches out for his insulated thermos of buttered rum, and blinks at its weight. Or lack thereof.

“Tim?” He calls out, glaring at his disappointingly empty thermos.

There’s no answer. He turns, water sloshing against his shoulders, and squints through the glass of the door into the lodge. He calls Tim’s name out again, again to no response. Worried, he braces himself for the cold, and stands up.

With his teeth gritted and his arm wrapped around his chest, the cold is just barely bearable, and he wraps himself up in his bathrobe as quickly as he can and ducks into the lodge. The heated floor is comforting against his toes, as he checks the bedroom first. Tim’s not there, though there’s a Tim-shaped imprint on the huge four-poster bed, from where Rhys had left him to sleep in, and the remnants of their catered breakfast.

It’s not until Rhys realises that Tim’s gloves and coat are gone that he remembers: Tim _had_ mentioned something about going ice-fishing last night. Rhys glares at the empty space where Tim’s coat should’ve been, and tries to convince himself that putting on proper clothes to go find Tim would be a good idea.

He weighs the mental imagery of Tim fishing (probably not bundled up enough, definitely content and relaxed as he sat there and waited with his pole. Or spear. Whichever they used in ice) against the effort of actually putting on his thermal layers and actually making the ten minute walk through the snow to find Tim.

Staying in the lodge with its heated floors and roaring fireplace and hot spring wins out, to absolutely no surprise on Rhys’ part.

He resigns himself to just seeing the aftermath of fishing, and goes to call for a massage.

\---

The Masseuse-Bot that arrives is intriguing enough that Rhys spends most of his hour examining it instead of getting his brains massaged out. It’s built kind of like a Loader-Bot, but its arms are more articulated, with a synthetic flesh covering that Rhys can’t stop running his fingers over. Masseuse-Bot stands there patiently, expressionless as most bots are, but radiating bemusement nonetheless.

Eventually, after taking about a thousand pictures and sending them to Yvette with instructions on contacting the manufacturer, Rhys lies down, and starts his massage proper. He ends up having to buy a second hour, but it’s worth it because the massage is _good_. Masseuse-Bot’s beautiful robotic hands are magical on Rhys’ shoulders, even the empty one, and the synthetic, oil-covered flesh is warm against Rhys’ skin as each knot in his body is firmly and gently teased out.

He’s so boneless that it takes him a few minutes to realise that the hands on his back have changed. Rough skin, real, scarred, _familiar_ skin and not the poreless smoothness of Masseuse-Bot. The hands aren’t as practiced, as gentle, and seem more concerned with touching, sliding themselves over Rhys’ oil-slick skin than anything.

“How was fishing?” Rhys asks, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Not bad. I caught us some fish.” Tim sounds content; his voice has that scratchy quality to it that means he probably hasn’t talked all day.

“Mm.” Rhys rolls over, and blinks up at Tim. “Oh, you showered already,” he says, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

“Yeah.” Tim raises an eyebrow. “My hands smelled like fish, pretty sure you wouldn’t have wanted them on your skin.”

“Probably not.”

“You’re pouting. Did you _want_ the fish smell?” Tim runs his hand down Rhys’ stomach, the pressure firm enough to not be ticklish. His eyes are fixed greedily on Rhys’ nakedness, but he doesn’t do anything more than touch.

“Obviously not.” Rhys arches his back a bit, grins at the way Tim’s breath catches. “I did want to see you all rosy-cheeked from the cold though. And maybe join you in the shower. Help warm you up, so to speak.”

Tim’s hand dips lower, tantalisingly close.

“We could still go back into the shower,” Tim says, voice low and hungry. His eyes are very dark, and there’s the tiniest little flush to his face, beneath the freckles. It’s a good look on him.

“Or we could stay here.” Rhys parts his legs, runs his hand down his own chest and catches Tim’s fingers in his own. They’re slippery with oil, and the slide of Tim’s warm skin against his own is inspiring, to say the least.

“We could,” Tim agrees, and bends down to catch Rhys’ laughter with a kiss.

\---

Later, much later, they’re back in the hot spring to watch the sunset again. Rhys stretches out in the water, Tim’s body solid against his side. He feels languid, loose in a way that he hasn’t in months. This holiday was a good idea, and he tells Tim so.

“I told you,” Tim says, sounding smugly satisfied despite his sleepiness. His damp hair curls against his forehead in loose whorls, almost dripping into his half-closed eyes.

“Don’t rub it in.” Rhys prods Tim’s chest. “You know what else would also be a good idea?”

“Hm?”

“Another drink.”

Tim cracks open one eye, and gives Rhys a Look.

“The thermos is right there, babe.”

“I finished it already,” Rhys says unrepentantly, and gives Tim his sweetest smile. “Make me another drink, oh light of my life?”

Tim closes his eye, and sighs, sinking down into the water as he does so until his sigh becomes a burble.

“Sweetheart. Babe. Darling.” Rhys tries, peppering each word with a kiss to Tim’s temple. “Sweetie pie. Chicken dumpling. Apple skewer.”

Tim shakes his head as he emerges, spluttering with laughter, from the water, sending water droplets flying everywhere.

“Really? Apple skewer?”

Rhys shrugs, and reaches out to tuck back one of Tim’s curls.

“Okay, okay.” Tim says, giving Rhys a half-exasperated, half-fond look. “Buttered rum?”

“With extra cloves.”

“Of course.” Tim rolls his eyes, and heaves himself out of the water. “You’re a brat, you know that, right?”

“Yep.” Rhys shamelessly ogles the way the water streams off Tim’s naked body, the steamy mist making the entire situation look like a sordid romance novel cover. The warm light of the lamps bathes Tim in a flattering glow, and Rhys makes an appreciative sound, because he can.

Tim glances down at Rhys, and flushes when he realises what Rhys is doing. “You,” he says, pointing a finger at Rhys as he pads his way into the house, dripping water everywhere and thermos in hand. “Are _incorrigible_.”

“You love it,” Rhys calls out after him, grinning. He settles against the stone edge of the hot spring to wait, already missing Tim’s warmth.

It doesn’t take Tim long to return, because he’s an old hand at making Rhys drinks by now. When he does though, he’s got more than just the thermos with him.

“I can’t believe you made me go and get my fondue present by myself,” Tim says as he sets the fondue set down next to the spring.

“Wait. It arrived?” Rhys sits up, sloshing water everywhere. “Oh, damn it. I thought I ordered it for tomorrow.”

“Well, it’s here now.” Tim sits cross-legged by the set, and starts setting it up. “Here, your drink, by the way.”

Rhys takes the thermos, and pours himself a cup as he watches Tim work. “Thanks, babe.”

“Extra cloves, just for you,” Tim says absently, focused on breaking off the chocolate and stirring it into the pot.

There’s a pang in Rhys’ chest, as he sips on the buttered rum Tim had made him, with extra cloves. It is, Rhys thinks to himself, probably way past the point in their relationship where he should still be getting heart palpitations at Tim doing things for him.

It’s still nice though.

“Here, try some.” Tim dips a cheese cube into the chocolate, and holds it out to Rhys.

Rhys takes it in his mouth, and licks the chocolate off Tim’s fingers. “It’s good,” he says, chewing thoughtfully. The cheese is soft, mellow, a nice contrast to the sweet bitterness of the chocolate. “Shouldn’t I be feeding you, by the way?”

“We can take turns,” Tim says mildly. “I like feeding you.”

Really, _really_ past the point in their relationship.

Rhys pillows his head on his arm, and kicks idly behind him to stay afloat as he watches Tim. “Did they actually put in chocolate chip brownies?”

“Yes, yes they did.” Tim sounds vindicated. “And I’m gonna eat that with _even more_ chocolate.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” Rhys says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. He tugs the box closer and picks through the cheese and fruits in there, until he gets to the brownies. He dips it into the chocolate fondue, careful not to get his fingers into the hot chocolate. When he’s done, Tim catches his wrist with a careful hand, and lifts Rhys’ fingers to his mouth. His lips are soft around Rhys’ fingers, and he flicks his tongue against the tips.

“Mmm.” Tim closes his eyes, and makes a really dramatic moaning sound, definitely louder than he usually is in bed, and about a thousand times less sexy.

“Do I need to leave you two alone?” Rhys says drily, even as he’s picking up another piece, for himself this time.

One bite of it is enough to make him grimace, and he offers the rest of the brownie cube to Tim, who takes it eagerly enough, letting out another moan, more genuine sounding this time.

“It’s so _sweet_ ,” Rhys says, going to take a gulp of buttered rum to wash the taste away. “And bitter at the same time. _Why_?”

“You have absolutely nothing to stand on,” Tim says, licking at a smear of chocolate on his lips. “I’ve seen you eat snails.”

Rhys scoffs, and reaches out for a slice of fresh strawberry, not deigning to rise to Tim’s jab. “Aren’t you getting cold out there, by the way?” He raises his eyebrow at the welcoming, warm water he’s in, trying to hint to Timothy that they could enjoy this fondue better sitting next to each other.

Tim obliges, slides into the water behind Rhys and hooks one leg around Rhys’. “Feed me,” he says, and takes the proffered chocolate-dipped strawberry with a pleased sound.

They work their way through the box of dippers, the fondue bubbling gently and making the entire place smell sweet. The sunset is as magnificent as yesterday’s. Lying in the hot water, Tim’s arms around him and his chin propped up on his own arm as he watches the sunset, Rhys thinks this might be paradise.

“This is nice,” Tim’s voice comes, low and warm, echoing Rhys’ thoughts.

“Mmhm.”

The unspoken _we should do this more often_ rests in the air, but Rhys really isn’t about to start that debate, not in this place. It seems like Tim doesn’t either, because he just dips another of his heinous brownie cubes into the fondue, and eats it instead of saying anything.

\---

Later that night, curled up against Tim’s back and feeling the slow thump of Tim’s heartbeat beneath his palm, Rhys wonders if there’s a way to do this. Balance his own _need_ to supervise Atlas’ running and their many, many projects against this peace.

He doesn’t find a conclusion or an answer that night, but he does make the decision to try harder. With this. With Tim. He tightens his arm around Tim a little, tucks his knees against Tim’s a little more, curls himself around Tim’s body in a promise.

“You okay there?” Tim says sleepily, one hand coming up to wrap around Rhys’. “It’s late.”

“I know, sorry.” Rhys kisses the back of Tim’s neck in apology. “Go back to sleep.”

Tim makes a soft, assenting sound, clearly already more than halfway there.

“I love you,” Rhys says, testing the words out against Tim’s neck, the words brushed against the short curls there.

“Love you too,” Tim answers, voice little more than a sleepy murmur.

Somehow, despite his heart’s best attempts to pound its way out of his chest, Rhys falls asleep.


End file.
